Nine weeks out = nine harsh truths revealed by the Boulder Peak Triathlon

1. I have no mental toughness at all, and there were two instances that betrayed this. First, in the days preceding the race I had some issues with flat tires, and I was committed to correcting these issues in Laramie. First bike shop I tried had NO road tubes at all, but I was told I probably could stuff a bigger MTB tube into my tire. They also had NO CO2 cartridges. The second bike shop had what I needed, so the first one might have lost my business. On Saturday morning, the planned three-hour ride got cut in half because I flatted again, this time working a piece of glass all the way through the tire. So I stopped at a place in Colorado to get a new tire — which turned out to be the wrong size. I did a 180 and went back to exchange it, which the shop did. I spent Saturday night after dinner working the tire on to my wheel, not what you want to do the night before a race, because mechanical issues piss me off and drain my mental energy.

2. As if worrying myself into a frenzy over my mechanical didn't betray my lack of cool, the weather during the race did. Sure, it was around 75 degrees when I was on the somewhat flat, unshaded run, but that's about 20 degrees warmer than it is when I train outside (5:30 a.m. or thereabouts). And because it's been very cool up here, I wasn't prepared for the heat despite having drunk a pool full of Gatorade, water, Pepsi and juice in the days preceding the race. On the run, I actually put ice in my hat, much to the amusement of those around me, and I walked briefly at three of the five aid stations. Everyone raced in the same conditions, though, and I couldn't suck it up, something I'll have to do at Wisconsin, where it was a brutal 92 degrees the last time I did the race.

3. No matter how strong a climber I fancy myself, I still have to regulate my output of energy on the really gnarly hills. The first eight miles of the Peak's bike course are uphill, the first seven of which gradual, the last mile a double-digit grade up Old Stage Road. With nearly 2,000 athletes out there at any time, there are some people unprepared for that kind of climbing so that means rows of four and five cyclists across the road, crawling at a snail's pace. About two-thirds of the way into this climb, I saw an opening in the masses, so I got out of my seat and dropped the hammer, much to the delight of a few spectators up there. Seriously, with about five or six angry pedal strokes I passed about 30 people strewn across the road, finding a seam like a great running back. Of course, that left me spent for about 10 minutes, five of which was spent climbing. Still. Thank goodness for the ensuing descent at 35 mph.

4. My heart-rate monitor betrayed me, and I learned that I can't rely on it. I've trained with my mind and my body since high school but I got curious about what my heart was doing so I got a heart-rate monitor last year. This is the first year I've used it and I'm getting some interesting feedback; I'm just not sure what to do with that feedback (and I'm fully aware that certain people get paid to interpret that data to my advantage. Anyway, I was prepared to use it on Sunday, planning on putting it on just before getting in the water for a warmup, thinking the moisture from the Boulder Reservoir would activate the transmitter. Wrong. Despite letting all kinds of water into my wetsuit, I never got a signal and I spent the entire race seeing readings of 00, 233, 158, 182, and 51. So on the way home I got batteries for both my Timex Ironman watches. The Polar HRM officially is on notice, and I'll go back to the Timex(es) if it screws up again.

5. Despite serving as an integral part of my training diet for more time than I've been legal, I might have to curb my alcohol intake. I had two beers with dinner on Saturday night, and while I'm not blaming my performance on the carbs-and-hops confections I don't think they helped. Thanks to some loud assholes outside my room, the two bottles of Rolling Rock damn sure didn't help me sleep.

6. I mentioned the wetsuit before. I wore the Orca full suit because I assumed the heavier-than-average snowfall and milder-than-average spring would keep the Res nice and cool. Wrong. According to a sign posted on the pro racks the water temperature was 77, one degree below the wetsuit threshold for amateurs. I still have my QR sleeveless and that would have done nicely, but the water temp was not posted anywhere on the Web site in the days leading up to the race so I had no idea how warm it was. I ended up boiling myself like a crawfish, the temperature no doubt slowing a lot of people down. So I need to do better research of the course.

7. You should have seen my feet after the run. They looked like raw hamburger. For any triathlon run 10K or shorter, I forego socks. Never again. I blister too easily for an endurance athlete and those hotspots make it very difficult to concentrate on the task at hand, so I'll have to wear my socks from now on.

8. My transitions are getting faster but after watching the pros switch from bike to run, mine still seem glacial. There's no amount of observation that leads me to anything I can do to be quicker between disciplines, so I might as well stop comparing my apples to Matt Reed's squashes, to use a phrase.

9. When I do a race with more than 150 people — especially one in triathlon's Valhalla — there's no point in sticking around for the awards, or even looking at the results posted on the side of the timing truck. No coincidence that I got my ass kicked in any race with a decent number of people and quality of field. And in the face of this beatdown I have to maintain perspective, that in the grand scheme of things the Boulder Peak is not my focus, that there are bigger fish to fry, and far more important things to master beyond an Olympic distance race I might not do again.